


Listening

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extrapolation of a single sense. How far would you want to go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening

## Listening

by Spyke

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/spyke_raven>

I don't own what Pet Fly owns and I don't make money from them either.

To Dale Edmonds {{hug}} for carefully and scientifically extracting a modicum of sense from a twisting series of images. I could not have completed this without talking to you. Thank you for not kicking me out but patiently listening to me gabble. Words cannot express the sheer mind numbing ecstasy of having written this at last, so like it or not, honey, this one's for you.

Warnings - attempted plot, violence, some sort of sex. This is a companion to the theme of 'Parentheses', because that was about interpolations, this is about extrapolations, but both stories exist in that weird head space where communication is sadly screwed because so much is being internalized. One day talking about Jim and Blair post TSbyBS, especially from the confusing but beautiful POV of their own heads is going to get less fascinating. Then I'll write completely happy things again. One day.

* * *

\-- 

A lizard was crucified on the electric fence surrounding the Alvarez property, its body slowly turning gray from the inside out. Echoes of screams still hung in the air, sounding shrill and high as they drove in towards the house. Jim shook his head, distracted. 

The air was full of smoke and ghosts; dirty gray motes of ash and powdered bone doing obscene dances before smearing the glass. He squinted, searching through the patterns for the road ahead. 

Blair touched his shoulder. "Okay?" 

Jim nodded, concentrating on the road. Bumps of gravel hit the tires, each contact magnified into a steady ominous pounding that intensified with the stench of burning. Wind blew dust and tar into the screen as they drove, obscuring nothing that he could see. 

"Jim." 

Jim. 

Yes, that was he. 

Identity reconfirmed, his feet jerked down automatically, hitting the brakes. The car stopped inches from the porch, metal emitting tiny unbearable vibrations as it shuddered to a halt. 

"Jesus." Softly whispered into the twilight, hanging there like the other wisps of gray. 

They sat there, waiting for the ghosts to fade. 

Blair's hand was reaching out to him, his name an unspecified query. Jim thrust his seatbelt open and got out of the car, almost, but not quite slamming the door. Simon came out a moment too late to see the interchange, forehead furrowed, handkerchief to his nose. 

Jim's eyebrows rose. 

"That bad?" Blair was climbing out of the car, pushing his hair into a tangled knot and securing it with a band. It was long and thick again after the academy had sheared it. Just long enough to look decent in a ponytail. "Simon?" 

Simon removed the kerchief and took a halting breath of fresh air. "Worse. This place is crawling with feds." He took a cigar out of his pocket and inhaled, not lighting it up but comforting himself with the sweet smell of tobacco. Jim watched, vision detached and mildly irritated. 

"Jim. Come on." 

Why did Blair keep saying his name? He knew who he was, knew that Blair's hand was on his arm, slight pressure directing him. Still, Jim followed quietly, not knowing what else to do. 

"Connor's upstairs with forensics," Simon called out after them. Jim smelled the newness of burning nicotine and inhaled some to keep him steady. 

The stairs were fragile and splintered beneath their feet, carpet hairs crisping. 

"Whoa." Blair wrinkled his nose. Jim couldn't blame him. The heavy hot stink was overwhelming, but Blair bumped his shoulder a couple of times and gave him something else to focus on. Jim was glad of that, very glad, even as he wondered what was keeping Blair focused. 

"Looks like the fire was contained to the first floor," murmured Blair. "What d'you think?" 

Jim thought his mouth felt dusty and overused. Gritting his teeth didn't help; the pervasive tang of iron and dry-rot slipped through the cracks, familiar smells taunting and reminding him what they were. What they had been. 

Alive once. Relics of a life. 

Jim swallowed filth and nausea, minute scraps of cooked skin and charred cloth, trying not to breathe in the remaining screams. 

"Jim?" 

He shook his head, not wanting to open to the smug ghosts haunting the air. So Blair stopped on the second landing and took a quick look around for watchers before darting into the shadows. Jim followed, lips already parted, which made it easier for Blair to lean up and quickly kiss him, swiping his tongue inside Jim's mouth to replace rusted metal with a hint of coffee and over-taste of baked beans. 

Blair breathed into his mouth, words. 

"It's okay." Or it could have been anything else, a curse for all he cared. Jim sucked in the breath gratefully and held the kiss slightly longer, hands gripping Blair's shoulders, squeezing the muscles for reassurance. Flannel bunched under his fingers, releasing sweat and scent-ghosts that swirled for a second, dispersing the other signals in the air. It was dangerous, it was necessary, it was a distraction... 

It was barely enough. 

They breathed together in the shadows, passing tastes back and forth. Above them Jim could hear the slight tramp of footsteps and low toned voices. A heavier crunch, a presence on the stairs. Coming down. 

Jim drew away, hands tracing a slow path down Blair's sleeve before falling back to his side. 

Blair looked up at him. "Better?" he asked, voice slow and smooth, overlaid with Jim's scent. 

Jim nodded, wishing Blair hadn't spoken, wondering how he could open himself again, so soon. "Better," he said, after a while, licking his teeth and swallowing slightly to retain the taste. "Better," and this time his voice was normal again. 

They walked up the stairs, careful to tread lightly on charred wood. 

Connor was in the bedroom, hands gesturing steadily as she consulted with Serena. She nodded as they came in, but didn't turn completely towards them. Turning would have meant exposing herself to the sight on the bed and there were limits to anyone's stoicism. 

Jim looked. 

The throat had been cut cleanly before the fire took the man. Even the buffer over his senses couldn't drown out the splatters of cooked blood that soaked the sheets in a bizarre combination of sepia and burnt puce. The wallpaper was scorched too but the bed curtains still stood in charred sentry, ghosting in an almost invisible breeze, hiding then showing the body on the bed. 

Color washed in and out of his vision. The body was black. Had been. Blackened. 

Blair shifted from foot to foot before nudging Jim in the shoulder and moving towards Megan and Serena. 

Jim turned towards the wall, searching through plaster and bricks for the sound of dry sobs and retching gulps. There weren't any. 

Alvarez had left a wife. A widow. 

She'd found the body. In a manner of speaking. 

"Jim," Connor spoke from across the room. "She's downstairs." 

What was it with everyone needing to use his name? 

Jim shut his mouth and stepped out of the room, heading for the center of silence. He felt Blair behind him, faithful shadow, following him downstairs and into the living room where Juanita Alvarez sat, twisting the ring on her finger. She didn't look at them, only stared harder at the carpet as if searching for a pattern that had been there once but wasn't any longer. 

"Mrs. Alvarez? I'm James Ellison." 

She looked up at that, her lips trembling. 

He had to say something. 

"Your husband - " 

"No." 

Trust him to choose the wrong something. 

Jim stayed silent, remembering patterns. Blair spoke up before he could have warned him not to. "Mrs. Alvarez," 

"NO!" 

She spat out the word, hands growing paler, gripping each other, knuckles straining and bruising the flesh. Alerted by the cry, a medic rushed into the room and gave Jim a dirty look before assuming a gentle mask and speaking soothingly to the woman whose only response was to twist her fingers, pressing them together hard and sitting as still as was humanly possible. Containing herself inside her body. 

It came easily to her. She'd obviously had practice. 

The medic put a hand on her shoulder. She shivered, but didn't throw him off, so the man continued talking softly, words a senseless, comforting babble that flowed over Jim like a blanket but didn't do much to relax the woman. 

"... make you a bit more comfortable, alright?" Another angry face directed their way and lips moved, hissing, "Would you please just _leave_?" 

Feet on stairs: the sound of Connor descending. Blair tapped him on the shoulder and cocked his head towards the door. 

Jim shrugged. 

Blair signed again, body language easily understood. They might as well go dance with the feds. Didn't seem to be anything else to do here. 

Jim walked out with his partner but stood a moment outside the door, waiting for the _schnick_ of hypodermic connecting with skin, the slight depression of air as drugs were pumped in to her body. 

Sedation didn't do much to improve the silence. 

\-- 

Blair held himself taut and ready as they walked out, eyes encompassing the house and grounds as if keeping watch so Jim wouldn't have to. They found Simon standing near an almost tasteful marble fountain, talking to a nondescript blonde man. It was no effort at all for Jim to survey the situation - Simon's teeth clenching on the cigar, biting back some response to the stranger's questions. 

"Tanner, FBI. Detectives Ellison, Sandburg." But Simon introduced them almost politely. 

Tanner nodded: gaze flicking from Blair and back again to Jim. "I understand you were the one working Alvarez?" 

"He was working on himself." Jim said. "Alvarez called me." 

"And why would he do that?" The tone was cool, not quite disbelieving. 

Jim shrugged. Beside him Blair stood a little straighter, mouth compressed into a thin line. Jim could feel the energy radiating off him in hot, angry waves that did nothing for the already clogged atmosphere. 

There were clouds rushing in from the east and the scent of humidity was concentrated. This close to the house it was almost unbearable. 

A drop of rain pecked at Tanner's nose. He wrinkled it unconsciously. 

"So. What do you have for us, Detective Ellison?" After six months you'd better have something useful, which he didn't say, but the words hung in the air, waiting to be picked up. 

He'd had six months with Alvarez, six unbelievably short-long months to get to know the man garroted so neatly on his bed. Six months with painstakingly heightened senses and a new understanding of the depths need could bring a man to. 

Six months to understand Alvarez as a human being whose legacy appeared to be a dead lizard on a fence and a woman who couldn't cry for him. A bloodstained bed and an execution: the quiet signature of the family. No names, no witnesses, because Carpenter took care of his own. So Jim shrugged, knowing it would irritate the hell out of everybody, but having nothing better to say. 

Tanner flicked a look behind him and someone jumped to attention. "Take a statement," indicating Jim before stalking away to cover the rest of the grounds. At his current pace Jim thought he might actually manage it before the rain obliterated anything that could be mildly useful. 

"Detective Ellison?" 

Someone had been speaking to him. Jim felt a hand begin to reach out to him, felt Blair withdraw it even as his own muscles tightened in response. 

He walked away with the uniform who'd accosted him, leaving Blair behind. 

\-- 

In the darkness of the bullpen, Blair spun a pen on his fingers. His coffee cooled to black, sending rings spreading out through mounds of paper where the cup leaked. 

Jim's desk was almost Spartan neat. 

Blair lifted his arm, dropped the pen. It scored an almost perfect bull's-eye in the center of a coffee ring. Jim stretched out slightly, arranging his limbs under the desk. His joints felt limp and he ached with tiredness. 

"Hell of a way to find your husband." 

"Technically it was the fire-brigade who found him," Jim answered mildly. "When they put out the fire," in case Blair had missed that fine detail. 

His head was throbbing and lungs were encrusted with heat. The PD was silent, which made life a little easier. 

Blair picked the pen up and spun it again, on the backs of his knuckles this time. Jim didn't tell him not to do that. 

"Think she knows anything?" The pen hit the desk with a muffled but annoying clatter. Jim reached out and plucked it away. Blair grasped after it half-heartedly, but let Jim stick it into his own holder. 

"Doesn't matter." Jim tried stretching again but couldn't seem to get comfortable. 

"Doesn't matter." Blair repeated neutrally. Jim slanted a look in his direction. 

Blair closed his eyes and was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped. Three years ago he might have said something like, come on, Jim, you expect me to believe that you're not the tiniest bit upset? 

And Jim might have said, upset about what? 

Blair would have said, oh, nothing, maybe a little angry that a six-month operation just went down the drain because someone took out Alvarez before we got to him? 

And Jim would have - come to think of it, not too long ago he would have had the energy to be angry. He might even have had the strength to have this conversation for real instead of playing it out in his mind. But then three years ago they'd been different people. 

The outcome might have been the same anyway. 

Three years ago he wouldn't have been able to see patterns in dust or read the faint traces of a man's thoughts in the air thanks to the thermal clues left by body language and behavior. Hell, six months ago he would have believed he'd known the limits of his sensitivity. 

That was almost a joke that. 

Jim bared his teeth. Almost a smile. 

Blair rose, jacket in hand. "Want to get out of here?" 

Jim nodded, and shut down the computer. "Want to walk?" he said out loud. "Tony's. Three blocks." 

Blair shrugged. "Sure. We'd never find parking anyway." 

It was raining when they walked out, a light drizzle that sparkled off the sidewalk and coated Blair's hair with diamond-bright spots. 

"Still want to walk?" Blair asked. 

Jim shook his head and they moved back into the building, down to the parking lot. 

"Good thing we didn't walk," said Blair after a while. The rain had increased to a mild downpour, windscreen wipers fighting gamely but losing the battle to keep the glass clear. Luckily Jim could see through the raindrops. "If we'd walked we'd be drenched by now and there are things in this rain that men were not supposed to bathe in." 

Chemical rain, thought Jim, looking for their exit through a haze of information. The water had felt heavier on his skin - he wondered if Blair would be interested in that. Maybe he should tell him. 

Maybe not. His thoughts trailed off, losing the battle between silence and the thousand queries edging it. 

Blair, thought Jim through the haze, and after fifteen minutes of silence, realized he hadn't said it out loud. So he did. 

"Blair." 

"Huh?" asked Blair. 

Time was, thought Jim, when we were still friends, I would have said I need to go home and Blair would have said... what would he have said? 

"I need to go home," Jim experimented. 

Blair nodded, tracing the passage of a raindrop down his window. "Sure." Looked out the window and back at Jim. "You passed our exit." 

"No I didn't," said Jim, taking the left at Port Road. Except it wasn't Port Road but Seventh Avenue and Blair had the 'I-told-you-so' look of martyred patience plastered on his face all the rest of the ride home. 

Which made it easier for Jim to concentrate on driving the truck instead of thinking. Which meant they got home in one piece. And when they were safely in the loft and the world was locked out of their home for the night, Jim turned from hanging up their jackets and found Blair standing in the middle of the living room, looking at nothing in particular, his expression saying - but Jim couldn't read what Blair was thinking. 

He'd never been able to. That was part of it. 

"Blair," said Jim, just to get his attention. "Blair." 

And as Blair turned the full force of that unreadable gaze on Jim, Jim put his hands to his shirt and pulled the first button free, saying softly but with questionable certainty, "Blair." 

Blair exuded tiredness and the half-sleep of the terminally exhausted. Jim knew he shouldn't be asking now, but. 

But. 

Please. 

His hands stayed on the second button, waiting for a clue. They didn't tremble, but. 

But. 

After just enough pause to make Jim afraid, Blair spoke, almost a sigh. 

"You're wet." 

_Thank God_

"You're wet. Jim, you're soaking," said Blair as Jim moved closer, sliding against his body, rubbing slightly against flannel and cloth and the dampness of both, as he sank to his knees and said, "I know." 

"Jim," said Blair and he reached out with both hands to pull Jim up, but Jim batted them away and ran his hands down the flannel shirt, down along the torso and curvy spine of bone to the junction of denim. Hooked his thumbs into Blair's belt and slid it out the buckle, pulled it free and tossed it away. Unzipped Blair, not drawing it out beyond a mild tease, but Jim felt the shudder and rasp of metal moving against metal in time with Blair's deeper breathing and sudden tension. Gently reached in and pulled down Blair's shorts, cupping his dick and warming it in his hands. Gently, gently getting them both used to this. 

Blair gasped and Jim nodded, I know. Opened his mouth and kissed Blair softly, getting his lips around warm flesh and letting the taste in. 

Blair overwhelmed him almost immediately, covering and protecting him in a warm, almost bitter scent. Hands clasped around his head, touch added to taste and smell and Blair rocked a little, keeping his balance. Jim closed his eyes, wishing he could retain sight. 

I love you, he said instead, letting his tongue do the talking, moving against slight edges of skin and pressing warm, wet kisses along the length of Blair. I love you. I love you. 

I need you so much. Please. 

I'm sorry. 

He thought he heard Blair say yes Jim, I know. 

Hands fisted, squeezing and letting slip strands of his hair. Blair didn't pull on his ears, just cupped his head and held on. 

Jim sucked gratefully, quietly, needing. Wanting it hot and hard and punishing, Blair driving into his mouth, fucking his face, drowning him in painful sensory assault that wouldn't let him concentrate on anything but the sensation of being taken. But he took this soft and gentle instead, grateful for what he was allowed. This precious gift. 

Or punishment. He was never entirely certain, times like these. 

His soul hurt. 

Jim opened his mouth, relaxing his throat. 

Blair filled him, slipping in slowly. The tension in his muscles distracted him, an ache that was mild compared to the others. 

Much better. 

Minutes later he heard Blair sigh, and his mouth was wet and hungry for that breath. So he swallowed and moved off, slowly, slowly, not wanting to scare anyone away. Braced his hands on Blair's hips, rising slowly and meeting his partner's lips as they bent towards him. Blair tasted of rain, he smelled of blood warm and gentle rain, the kind that he'd been used to in Peru. But Blair reminded him only of the soft, fetid scent of leaves and earth and the tiny rustlings of animals, not of the pain and hunger and numbing fear he normally associated with the jungle. Blair was life in a city where concrete scared even the crows away. 

Blair. 

He tasted of warmth and hunger and promised deep, dark scented things if only Jim would open and see. Open himself. Just once. Just this little once. 

Only to Blair. 

Jim shuddered, afraid. 

"Jim," Blair whispered into him, growling at the back of his throat, breathing into the aching fullness inside. "Jim." The words reaching the core of him and promising - what? Redemption, understanding - Jim didn't care right now, as hands reached down, warming the muscles of his back, cupping his ass and fitting the two of them closer together. "Jim," said Blair, beginning the slow slide down, rubbing against him in fulfillment of all the dark promises. "Jim, Jim..." 

A cry on the edge of hearing: conscience or a scream on the streets. Either way his gut coiled, cock hardening. 

"Whoa," said Jim, not believing it, and said it again, to remind himself. Softly. "Whoa." 

He pulled Blair back upright and held him, face burrowed into his chest. "You're wet," he said when he could form words and sneezed involuntarily. "You're wet." 

His voice hurt, straining his ears. Blair tilted up for a kiss, whispering, "I _know_ we're wet. We're soaking." Jim gave them both that kiss, letting Blair lead, but not falling this time. Letting himself down only a little, enough to keep Blair from pulling away immediately, but not enough to keep little frown lines from springing up on his partner's forehead when they'd moved apart again. 

Lines that didn't quite clear as Jim said, "Shower and food," making it a statement of intent, following it up with a generic smile. 

They stared at each other, not quite challenging till Jim walked to the phone, saying easily, "I'll order something in." 

After a moment he heard Blair enter the bathroom. Let go of that sound as quickly as possible so he could take in the impermanent silence. 

Muted for a while. 

\-- 

Blair's face cleared a little when he came out and saw Jim sprawled on the couch, robe tightly belted around him. He touched Jim's face in passing, dragging the knuckles lightly over his cheek. Jim rubbed into the caress slightly, so Blair halted, bent down and shyly pressed his lips to Jim's forehead. 

Jim closed his eyes wondering when peace had become defined by the touch of a man. Oh wait, he remembered now. 

"You need a shower," Blair murmured against his skin. "You _stink_ , Jim." 

Jim nodded, but didn't get up. Stayed there listening while Blair went into his room, threw on sweats and a T-shirt, stayed there until his partner came out and said, "Bath, Jim. Now." And helped him into the bathroom, threw clothes and a towel in after him and did everything to get him to shower except promise to scrub his back. After all someone had to stay outside and pay for the food. 

Jim thought of the undertones of purple and green that had tinged Juanita Alvarez' arms, the slight abrasions and contained velocity of her body. Thought of Alvarez fingering the ring on his finger almost methodically, voice and body conveying nothing but sincerity when he said, "For Nita, Detective. I have to do this for her." 

Thought of how there were so many ways of loving and justifying the things love could and would do to a person. 

And dropped the soap, caught in the memory of Blair's lips bruising under his kiss. 

A knock on the door and Blair's voice, "Jim, the food's here." 

Jim realized he was on his knees. Got up, hand only shaking slightly as he started to try to clean himself. 

It didn't matter now. But he had to try anyway. 

\-- 

"I have to try, Detective. I have to try for her." Alvarez had been ten tables away, ostensibly reading a newspaper. That was how all their meetings went, the two of them in a different bar or restaurant, at least six feet between each other, Alvarez reading a book and whispering to Jim. 

The first time it had felt wrong, so sick and wrong that when Jim had come home he'd sat on the couch staring into absolutely nothing till Blair got home from the Academy and turned on the lights. 

He'd turned them off again when Jim had said "Please," and "Blair," for the first time receiving the only answer he wanted. Blair's kiss on his forehead, Blair's arms around him, the quiet hold and rocking of another man's body creating a tiny universe of warmth for one brief moment while his world fell apart. 

While he opened to take in the sounds of a world he'd never wanted to hear. 

Alvarez knew. Had taken the chance Jim would listen. 

Jim had listened. What else could he do? The man wanted to go straight. 

It had still felt wrong, sick and wrong, but he'd only told Blair later, when his hands had stopped shaking, "Look, there's a man who knows I can hear things other people can't. And he's... if he delivers, we can take down the Carpenter gang." 

And had seen the dawning of realization in his partner's eyes, the quick leaps of logic that led from one thing to another but mainly Jim remembered the sadness growing daily in Blair's eyes. 

Six months he'd stayed open to all the sounds of the world, getting better at filtering for the voices he wanted, using delicate layers of scent and thermal radiation to create signatures that made certain presences recognizable while the other billions retreated into a gigantic blur. Knowing all along that if he survived this, there would be others. If there was one, there could be others. Men and women who might whisper at him in hope or challenge. A serial killer maybe, "Come and catch me, Detective Ellison." And Jim could see himself becoming the man he'd never wanted to be, a freak show spending the rest of his life casting his senses in full range, starting at shadows, listening to lives he had no business entering. 

Alvarez' eyes sparkling in sincerity, the lines around his mouth thin and harsh as he said, "Detective Ellison, I have a wife whom I love and we want to have children. My... The organization I belong to sells drugs. To children." He'd swallowed. "Perhaps that is why God has not seen fit to bless us." 

Jim had shaken his head in the corner, mouthing, I'm not your confessor. Go tell a priest or something. 

Alvarez hadn't heard that. Of course. Which was when the irony hit him. 

"I have to try," Alvarez had said, twisting the ring on his finger, touching it with necessity. "I have to make it right." 

Apparently he'd tried. 

Not hard enough. 

\-- 

In the darkness of early morning, Juanita Alvarez lay on her bed in the center of unforgiving silence, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but the memory of a face destroyed and feeling the heat of fire as a brush of air against her skin. 

Cold water hit him on the back in freezing spikes, jolting him out of the sense-net he'd cast. Jim leaned his head against the hand he'd braced against the wall, catching his breath and trying to find grounding. 

He was outside on the phone. Jim wrapped a towel around his waist without bothering to dry off. 

Blair glanced at him as he came out. "Yeah, he's here. Hold on," passing it to Jim, mouthing 'Simon' before walking into the bathroom. 

Jim took the phone. 

"Yes sir." 

"Jim." Simon exhaled. "Her story checks out. She was visiting her sister in Sacramento all week. Flight got in this morning, matter of fact, the flight attendant remembers her because there were only twenty people in the plane." 

Jim didn't say anything. 'She' was Carpenter's sister, for crying out loud. What had Simon expected? 

"Are you still there Detective?" 

"Yes sir." 

Simon sighed, the puff of air hitting carbon atoms, releasing electrons and transmitting into sound that flowed through the lines in less than microseconds. Except Jim could hear that as a bad echo now, had heard Simon sigh from thirty miles away, could even grasp the hint of lag between that and the telephone transmitted sound. Because that was how good he had become at listening. 

"Look, you did all you could, Ellison. And we've been getting some damn useful information - " 

"The family _walks_ ," Jim interrupted. "Carpenter _walks_." 

Simon's voice was terse. "You think I don't know that?" Pause. "I don't want you in here tomorrow, you got that clear?" 

"That makes two of us then. Good night Simon." 

The phone clicked, but Jim heard Simon replace the receiver and turn away. Rustling of paper and he was calling for someone... 

Blair was shaking his arm, face drawn with tension. "Don't _do_ that. You don't need to _do_ that anymore." 

Ever so gently Jim dislodged his arm. 

"I'm hungry," he said. "Let's eat." 

"Put on your robe," said Blair, angrily draping it around Jim's shoulders. "Put it _on._ " 

Jim put the phone down and shrugged himself into the robe, taking his time with the ties. Blair watched, hands fisting spasmodically. 

"You'll get cold," he said finally, voice unnaturally steady and Jim found he had to look away. 

"Let's eat," he replied. 

"Fine. I'll feed you." 

Jim laughed, warming slightly. 

"I'm serious," said Blair, words running into each other and meaning something quite different. Jim tried an affectionate grin. 

"I appreciate the offer. Have to take you up on it one day." 

"Today. Now." 

"Blair," 

"You heard me." Blair's legs didn't seem so firm under him either, but he held his ground, standing. "You know for someone who listens to every fucking body, you sure don't hear so well." 

Jim blinked. "We are not having this conversation." Moving off, but restrained by a hand on his chest. 

"Aren't we? Aren't we, Jim? Because if that's the height you're taking repression to I have to say it's pretty damn high." 

"Blair," torn between laughter and irritation. 

"Jim." But Blair's voice was shaking, almost - Jim looked down at the hand clutching his robe. 

The knuckles were white. 

"Blair?" 

"Listen to me you asshole. Just you damn well _listen_ to me." 

Blair's hand clenched on fabric, released it and traveled heartbreakingly slow up to Jim's face. Cupping his chin, tracing the furrows at the corners of his mouth. 

"Blair." 

Blair's fingers covered his mouth, startling Jim into inhaling, into tasting, ever so slightly, the traces of soap and tiny aromatic compounds that signaled 'Blair'. Into hearing the breaths and beating heart that covered and protected him from the inevitable listening. 

He tried to draw back. 

"No." Blair's voice was stronger now, urgent. "No, damn it, _no_. If I have to feed you by hand, I'll do it. I'll bathe you. I'll sleep with you, I'll cover you with me, keep you inside me but you're not, you're _not_ going to do this to yourself. Look at you, Jim, just look at you. Look at what you're doing. _Think_ of what you're trying to do." 

Jim couldn't speak, not against the pressure of Blair's fingers holding him safe and the universe at bay. Grounding. A sensory blanket that kept madness at bay. 

For now. 

"I'm your Guide, damn you. I'm the one who goes _before_ you to show the fucking way - and okay, I'll admit I screw up, I screw up badly but for fuck's sake, you have got to stop doing this," and Blair replaced fingers with his mouth, tongue probing desperately, ineptly, trying to erase anything and everything, forcing his way into Jim's mouth. Jim let him, let him touch and taste and felt himself grow hollow, compliant as Blair tried, but couldn't quite get rid of the memories. 

He felt it the instant Blair realized and pulled back slightly. Took advantage of that small victory to disengage them both and place his forehead against Blair's, letting them connect for an instant, pretend that it would be like this. Safe. Together. 

Everything muted. 

"This is not who you are. This is not what you're supposed to be doing." Blair spoke with such calm certainty, like he knew what he was talking about. For a moment part of Jim said, well he does, doesn't he? He's the guide, right? 

Then he remembered and sighed again into Blair's skin, keeping one last scent trace for luck. 

"Is this who you are? Is this what you're supposed to be doing?" 

He felt Blair clench his fists. 

And unclench. 

Jim was kind. He moved away. 

"We'll talk later," he said. 

He thought he heard Blair say something. Like maybe, 'Wait.' Or 'Listen'. 

"A man died because I wasn't listening, Blair." Jim said it softly, but wanting him to know. 

I'm listening now. 

Sure you are, Jim. 

What with one thing or the other, they never actually ate dinner. 

\-- 

In the darkness Jim relived the story. Alone in his bed - they never slept together. 

He couldn't sleep. 

Downstairs Blair typed, fingers pecking sometimes, other times moving with urgency. 

That made two of them. 

"It's like the dial's on permanent hyper-on," Blair had said the first time he came home and found Jim huddled on the couch, trying to get warm. "Sound. You're trying so hard to stay focused on sound that you should be overloading, but now all the other senses are going haywire because you refuse to let yourself get out of control." 

Fuck the lecture, Jim had wanted to say. Just fucking hold me and shut up. My bones hurt. 

Instead he'd managed a moan. 

Blair's grip had tightened, and Jim realized that he'd probably been in his arms all along. 

"The bastard. The fucking, rotten, scazzy -" 

Scazzy? That'd been a new one. If his head hadn't hurt so badly he'd have laughed. 

Not Alvarez' fault, Jim had tried to explain. Carpenter, son-of-a-bitch, took care of his own. In more ways than one. The only safe way was this way, to stay permanently open, waiting for the information. And hell, it wasn't like Alvarez knew this would be difficult for Cascade's resident superman... 

Sensation spiked and all he'd actually managed to do was turn into Blair's waist and nuzzle desperately at the fortuitous thin line of skin where Blair's shirt had ridden up thanks to Jim's squirming. 

Which was when they'd - he'd found out that the taste or touch or scent or warmth or fucking electromagnetic frequency of Blair's skin was a damper that prevented the universe from blowing out Jim's circuits. 

He'd never asked what Blair had thought of that first frantic kiss, Jim's hands clawing their way up to his neck and pulling him down into a lip-lock that did vacuum seals proud. Never asked if Blair remembered what Jim remembered, the feel of their noses bumping awkwardly until Jim settled down and positioned himself for tastes and touches all around Blair's face, the way Blair's lips had bruised but kissed back hard and rapidly, the way their tongues had first got involved in trading tastes, a near-orgasmic feat in itself and Jim was so damn proud for not having come all over Blair then, though the case of blue balls had put a damper in his sexual memories for a week. 

He didn't jerk off over those memories because that would be... that would be wrong. But it wasn't wrong to say that he'd begun living for those weekly and then daily encounters, when Blair would give him what he needed so he could maintain the - relationship with Alvarez. 

Until, of course, he'd stopped listening. 

And when it was too late, he'd started again. 

\-- 

"I have to try," Jim said in the darkness, knowing as he did that Blair wouldn't hear him. 

The sound of typing stopped, then restarted. 

Jim closed his eyes, still listening despite the headache. 

Blair spoke. 

"You know, despite our long and valuable association I still have these moments when I think, oh shit, is today the day Jim decides I'm too much distraction? Is today the day he tells me to get the hell out of his life?" The texture of air changed and Jim realized Blair was smiling. Or something that involved baring his teeth. "That's a disgusting way to live, don't you think?" 

Jim made no answer that Blair could hear. 

"Do me a favor, Jim. Don't insult me anymore than you already have, okay? Give me a chance. Hear what I'm saying, please." 

"Before you -" 

He heard Blair swallow. 

"Before you -" 

"I can't do this. Not without... face to face. I need to see your face, Jim." 

"I need to see you. Come down. Please." 

Silence. Blair didn't type, just waited. 

No one moved. The moment passed. 

" _Shit_ " 

Downstairs a chair was pushed back with unnecessary violence. Someone moved rapidly to the foot of the stairs then paused, and drew back. 

Jim closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. 

"It's over isn't it? Carpenter got to him, case closed. Why are you still doing this to yourself? Who died and made you God?" 

Don't. 

Blair seemed to consider. "Or is it over? Is there something you're not telling me? Because if there is, then as the secondary on this goddamn case I demand to know what the _fuck_ you're not telling me. Huh Jim? As one professional to another, do you mind telling me what the fuck you're doing?" 

Go to sleep, Sandburg. Just shut up and go to sleep. 

"I'm coming up," Blair warned. 

"Stay down." Jim's response was immediate. 

"Nuh-uh." Blair placed a foot on the stairs. 

"For Christ's sake leave me _alone_." 

"Too late for that, man." 

Jim sat up as Blair entered his bedroom. "Look," he started, "It's late and I'm tired and can we talk about this some other time?" 

"No." Blair sat on the edge of Jim's bed, oddly comfortable for an angry man. His hair was tied in a shaggy tail that bounced as he shook his head. 

Below, a truck passed their street and the reflected light glinted off Blair's spectacles. Jim winced and Blair took them off, laying them gently on the blankets, well away from Jim's feet. 

"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry. 

Silence grew up over the two of them, albeit slowly, as Blair's presence warmed the air and made it safe for Jim to think and breathe again. After a while he realized he didn't have a headache. 

He also couldn't make out what Juanita Alvarez was doing. 

"You're a distraction," Jim said through gritted teeth. "Go away." 

"Shut up." The words and tone were mild, but something in that considering gaze made Jim pause before yelling. He settled for 

"It was the lizard, okay?" 

"The lizard," Blair repeated calmly, waiting for Jim to make perfect sense. 

"The lizard. On the electric fence. It'd been frying for hours, so no one had cut the power, or it would have dropped off." 

Blair's eyes widened as if to say, sense at last. 

"Someone let them in. And out again." 

Jim nodded. 

"So what are you saying?" Blair reached out and gently tapped Jim's fists, getting him to release the scraps of blanket he was trying to separate from the main body of fabric. "I liked these sheets," he said obscurely or not obscurely enough. 

Jim closed his eyes. "Happy now?" He lay back against his pillows, trying not to clench his teeth. 

Blair considered that. "I don't know, Jim. On one hand we have a witness or possible accessory to the murder, on the other hand it couldn't have been the wife because she only came in this morning. Oh." 

Jim exhaled. 

"Oh." A ruminative Blair was a dangerous Blair. "The fire was set to throw off the timing." 

"Yeah." 

"And this upsets you because?" 

"This does _not_ upset me. Okay? I'm not upset." 

"Wow. Not even by the fact that you've collared a murderer and have absolutely no way to provide enough evidence to hang her." 

"Shut _UP_!" Jim realized he was sitting up, face dangerously close to Blair. 

Who looked right back at him levelly saying, "Don't try that alpha male crap on me, Ellison, I'm not in the mood." 

And then took advantage of Jim's momentary speechlessness to insert himself in Jim's space, his mouth against Jim's in a hot, territorial kiss before moving back and politely saying, "I was, however, in the mood for that." 

Pause. Jim swallowed. 

"You're... distracting me." He accused. "Trying to stop me from... thinking." 

Blair reached out and cupped Jim's chin in his hands, running his thumb against skin as if learning its texture in a simple caress frighteningly naked in desire. 

"Oh, it goes both ways, Jim." Emphasizing it with a kiss to the corner of Jim's mouth. "Why the hell do you think I kissed you at a frickin' murder scene, man?" 

Jim shook his head slightly, an aborted attempt to get Blair to stop touching him, or an effort to get closer. Blair chose to read it as the latter and held Jim's face steady for another kiss, light and solemn this time, a getting-to-know-you touch, a getting-to-know-the-only-lips-that-are-ever-going-to-touch-you-again kiss as he whispered, "You ground me Jim. Or didn't you know that already?" 

And when Jim only repeated the headshake, stupidly afraid, Blair looked into his eyes only slightly humorous and said, leaning into Jim as he spoke, "Then listen to me next time. Hear everything I'm telling you," pressing him down into the mattress as his face and voice lost all color and texture but the hard rawness that said I want you, I need you, and there's not a snowball's chance in hell that you can stop me from having you. 

It goes both ways, said or kissed Blair, and you can consider this repayment for the other time but I'd rather you just kissed me back. 

\-- 

For eternity there was nothing but the swiftly brutal claiming of a man who'd been denied and afraid too long. Blair cupped and caressed and needled his way into every crack of Jim's body he could reach, hampered by not wanting to ever stop kissing Jim, but leaving marks wherever he thought he could get away with it. 

"I was scared. I was so scared." Holding Jim's hands in both his, watching with painful sincerity as if to etch every emotion on Jim's face into memory. "Don't leave me, you hear that? Don't you ever fucking leave me." 

"Didn't think you wanted this." Jim found it hard to breathe now that his universe was defined in muted clarity with Blair's body against his a silver fire against the rest of the world's gray. 

"Not want this?" Incredulously punctuating the remark with a peck to Jim's nose, just to ease the tension. "You're crazy, Jim, have I ever told you that?" 

Just shut up and kiss me, thought Jim, and this time he said it out loud, making Blair laugh in turn and comply. 

"You're such a mass of contradictions," Blair didn't sound displeased only contemplative as he ran his fingers through Jim's hair. "What's it gonna take to get straight answers out of you?" 

Jim relaxed into the sensation, letting himself be needed. 

"I want you." Blair moved against him, open-mouthed, running his tongue against the outer edge of Jim's lips so he could breathe the words inside Jim, right to the core of him. "Listen to me. Feel how much I want you. I want you to want me too, not just because I-" 

Jim barked against his partner's mouth. Blair withdrew slightly. 

"What?" 

"That was supposed to be my line." Jim pressed his fingers into the hollow of Blair's back, walking them up to learn the warmth and little knobs of vertebrae. "I wanted you to have a choice." 

"You _are_ my choice, idiot." Blair groaned as Jim touched somewhere between the third and fourth vertebra. He'd have to remember that spot. "No matter what, you're my choice. Now just shut up and kiss me." 

Only later, when Blair began moving downwards, mouth leaving a wet trail 

"No." Jim held Blair's wrists in his, unwilling to explain but ready if he had to. 

Thankfully Blair just stopped, and came back up for another round of mouth to mouth. At this rate they'd move from soul-shattering to downright comfortable pretty soon, which would increase the number of kisses Jim could take before his heart stopped and that would be all to the good. 

Blair nuzzled his neck. "Not tonight?" 

Jim shook his head. 

"But soon," Blair promised. Jim just held him tightly. 

You'll never kneel to me, Blair. You'll never have to. 

"What if I want to?" 

Jim realized he'd said that aloud. 

\-- 

Thirty miles away, a woman sat on the edge of a chair, hands clenched, fingernails digging into one palm, the other clutching a lighter. 

Jim felt the cool of the metal railing against his fingers, felt the rush of steam as Blair came up behind him, holding a cup. 

"How is she?" 

Jim shrugged, not knowing what to say. 

It'd been hard enough to listen to Alvarez taking his wife in love so increasingly cold it seemed more like hate. Hard to hear him screaming at her, cursing her as he pushed inside her, trying every tactic he could think of to prove he could still make her feel. Harder still to listen to the sound of his fists beating against her body, trying to get her to scream, to open up and let him inside. Hardest to put names or assign blame, decide who or when or where it had all gone wrong for these two, because there had been need there despite the betrayal, Jim had read it in Alvarez' eyes, and there had been love or the remnants of it mixed into the screams at the house. And after recognizing that there was nothing he could do when there should have been something, he'd decided to stop listening. 

Which hadn't made any of it go away. 

"Come back, Jim." Blair's voice was level. "Don't let it bleed over into us, okay?" 

Jim could read it in the clicking of the lighter as she lit a flame and extinguished it, moment after moment watching it die. She'd thought she'd made a choice, letting her brother or his men in, and had stood in her pretty living room, looking at the carpet that had her own bloodstains on it some days, listening while the only family she knew took care of the only family she'd ever have. And then, because she'd loved them both, she'd told them to get out of her house and waited for the flames to make the choice for her to live or die. 

"Jim." A reminder. 

"I'm here." And he was, only cold, so cold. But Blair was wrapped around him, warming him, hands rubbing his forearms and saying, "You're cold, asshole, get inside. Now, before I drag you." 

He nodded, but waited till the phone rang, which it did. But he didn't extend his hearing, just waited for Blair to answer it for him. Which Blair did, his suddenly fierce look sideways confirming what Jim had already expected. Had been expecting since the previous evening. 

But then he'd also expected to have to do this alone. 

"Hold on," and Blair kept a hand over the mouthpiece and whispered angrily, "You don't have to." Though he knew Jim would. He had to. 

Jim almost smiled. 

Now that it had happened - was happening, he didn't feel as empty as he'd thought he would. Part of it was because of the breath infused into him hours ago by the man at his side. Part of it was just. 

This was who he was. Or who he was becoming. 

But not alone anymore. 

Jim took the phone from Blair. 

"Detective Ellison?" 

He recognized the voice. 

"I'm here." And he was, Blair right beside him, grounding him. 

"I..." Her voice trailed off, silence growing loud again. 

After a long pause, Jim said the words he hoped would convince Juanita Alvarez to talk. 

"Go ahead. It's alright." More gently, "It's alright." 

I promise. I'm here. 

"I'm listening to you." 

~ End. 

* * *

End Listening by Spyke: spyke_raven@yahoo.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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